


For you I'll try

by LoreKeeper427



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, POV Cullen Rutherford, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 13:26:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19085956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoreKeeper427/pseuds/LoreKeeper427
Summary: A fluffy piece inspired by Cullen and the Inquisitor.A possible 'what could have happened' if the Inquisitor could have asked Cullen to dance at Winter Palace before the battlement kiss.





	For you I'll try

**Author's Note:**

> I really despise how at the Winter Palace, if you are not already in a romance with him (had the battlement kiss) regardless of flirting, you cannot ask him to dance. I felt shorted by the lack of fumbling. Ergo a what if Quiz and Cullen were not yet together at the time of the ball.

Cullen and his fellow advisors, along with the inner circle, arrived at the Winter Palace before the Inquisitor. He’d spent his day coordinating with Leliana to ensure their men would be able to sneak inside with none the wiser. It was a challenging task to avoid attention in a location notorious for evaluating everyone and everything, but between them, they had devised a solution. 

Despite loudly protesting, and Cassandra’s support, he’d been required to attend unarmed and wear the finery picked out in lieu of formal armor. It could have been worse, he supposed. Ink black in color, it was accented with a silver sash and embellished gloves. Considering the fashion sense of Orlais and the overzealousness of his fellow female advisors, he was surprised at the tameness. Though it hadn’t made having to be dressed like a doll and paraded about any better. 

The Ambassador stressed the importance of court approval increases for arriving fashionably late. That was why he, and the rest of the inner circle were stuck in the vestibule awaiting the Inquisitor’s arrival while she met with the Grand Duke. As the door opened, Lady Montilyet hurried through the foyer to inform the Master of Ceremonies of the Inquisitor’s arrival.

He expected to see the Lexie follow behind, but did not. Instead he added two to his soldiers’ headcount. “Ten so far,” he muttered under his breath, “at this rate, it’ll take hours to move them into posit—” The words died on his tongue as she entered.

Cassandra gasped, “The Inquisitor...”  
  
“looks gorgeous,” Varric supplied.

Lexie Trevelyan was starlight, twinkling. Not even the view from the battlements of Skyhold could compare. With every move she glittered, the embodiment of poise and elegance. Easily identifiable amidst the frilly, pretentious, overly colored peacocks the Orlesians seemed fit to imitate. The ensemble coordinated with the remainder of the Inquisition to display a united force. Deep black was embellished with silver, highlighting her bust and trim waist before cascading to the floor. _Had her hair always been that long?_ He couldn’t recall ever seeing it down or curled. Then again, there hadn’t been such an occasion and for a moment, he _almost_ didn’t entirely hate being at this ball, _almost_.  
  
Varric’s laughter pulled Cullen from his trance, "You feel that Curly? It's the pitter patter in your chest you've ignored for too long."

His cheeks burned as Varric called her over. Lexie smiled, a vibrant white to brighten the darkest days, “You guys look great! And clean up nice.”

Cassandra scoffed, “This dress uniform is preposterous. Formal armor would have been better.”

In a poor attempt to excuse his blushing, Cullen tugged on the collar of his jacket and feigned being overheated. “I need to have this jacket let out a little.” He explained with no prompting, feeling ten times the fool.

Giving him a sideways glance, she quirked her eyebrow, and it took every ounce of restraint he had not to smack his forehead with his hand at his stupidity. 

“Don’t forget, keep your eyes open. We’re here for business, not pleasure.” Lexie nudged Varric’s shoulder with her elbow. “I’ll see you all later.” After curtseying, she departed.

“Very smooth.” Varric teased, while Cassandra stared with an amused expression.

Her name was on everyone's lips, which made it exceptionally difficult for Cullen to keep his mind off her. As the night progressed, she was a flash of lightning amidst the crowd, impossible not to notice despite only briefly remaining in one place before flitting away to the next.

With only a word, she could easily have her choice of suitors. In all likelihood, the Ambassador would have a stack of offers to present during the next war council. The pulsing between his eyes had worsened. Already, he’d nearly delivered a lecture to a male Orlesian on the meaning of personal space, declined several drink offers, fielded multiple questions regarding his personal affairs, and had been informed repeatedly he had the most ‘remarkable’ eyes. Thoroughly invested in keeping his own aquired following away, he hadn’t seen her approach. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, her voice caught his attention, shifting the full throb to a dull beat, “Commander.”

“Inquisitor,” he said a bit too excitedly before correcting, “was there something you needed? The sooner we find this infiltrator the better.”

Smiling, she placed a hand on his bracer, “I don't suppose you'd save a dance for me?” 

Did that mark the hundredth time he’d been asked to dance today? Ugh, he couldn’t remember. He closed his eyes and shook his head, completely forgetting to whom he spoke. “No, thank you.”

“Oh.”  
  
The shock and surprise in her voice reminded him of their location and moreover, who he’d spoken to. He swallowed, realizing he just turned down the Inquisitor. “No I didn't mean to—” _Explain it, quickly! So she’s aware it most definitely isn’t her._ “Maker’s breath. I've answered that question so many times, I'm rejecting it automatically.” 

Sympathy flashed across her features.  
  
_Maker, what in the Void is wrong with you? It’s not her, it's you. Explain._ “I'm not one for dancing. Templars never attended balls.”

Her lips pressed into a hard line. _Did you just upset her? Maker you are not very good at this._

Much to his relief, she changed topics. “Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary?”

“Not yet, it would be easier if people stopped talking to me.”

Her mouth formed into an _o_ of understanding and she nodded.

His mind screamed at him for his foolishness; the throbbing returned with full force. “Other people, not you,” he corrected too late, catching the glimmer of sparkle reflected from the light as she walked away. 

It only occurred to him after, to inquire why she had asked him, of all people, to dance. He hung his head. _I’m not very good at this, at all._

Lexie glided across the dance floor with Florianne, though Cullen had far more pressing concerns. _Who was fighting in the servants’ quarters and what specifically happened? What of this assassin?_ Despite his preoccupation, his eyes remain fixed on the ashen blonde.

 _I could attempt,_ he thought, _wouldn’t it be worth it, for her?_ He sighed, doubting his ability, doubting he had _any_ ability. That was, of course, assuming she still even wanted to dance with him at all. After he put his foot in his mouth, he owed her an apology, at the very least, an explanation. 

In what had been a very public display, the Inquisitor successfully played and beat Florianne at the grand game, avoiding further bloodshed in the process, well, except for the duchess herself. Lexie forced the leaders to work together and delivered a brief speech.

Whereas Cullen had seen her at regular intervals, she had since vanished among the sea of drunkards toasting to her and the Inquisition’s victory. He walked by, nearly missing her until he caught the glitter of her dress in his peripheral vision. Lady Morrigan and Lexie were speaking, and he stood in place, conflicted whether to approach. He inhaled, shaking sense into himself. _It’s a conversation for another day. It’s not relevant._

Lexie turned, leaning against the railing of the balcony. Her hunched shoulders and drooped head were familiar signs he knew all too well as defeat and exhaustion. In a split instant, he’d changed his mind. Forcing his legs to carry him forward, he glanced at Morrigan and quirked an eyebrow. She may have assisted the Hero of Ferelden in freeing the tower during the Blight, but that didn’t mean he trusted her. _Another issue for another time._

 _What to say? Hello? No, too simple. Good to see you? No, a bit too out of place and familiar._ He’d seen her all evening, given the way she looked in that dress, he couldn’t have missed her if he wanted to try. “There you are, everyone’s been looking for you.”

 _A true statement, and not overly formal or otherwise._ Mentally, he applauded himself for getting it right only to scolded himself for being so happy over a decent greeting. “Things have calmed down for the moment.”  
  
Barely looking up at him, she provided a curt nod and stared. He would have assumed she was taking in the view, if not for the blank expression and how she seemed miles away. “Are you all right?”  
  
Releasing an exhaustive huff, her voice cracked, “I wish I could have reasoned with the Dutchess; she didn’t have to die.”

 _Maker, was she really beating herself up after a victory?_ “You can’t always save people from themselves. A hard truth to learn, but I know it well.” The confession was honest and a bit too personal, but he hoped it provided her a sense of peace. There was nothing she could have done differently to produce a better outcome. Even if the soldier’s arrested Florianne, it wouldn’t have necessarily meant the end of her scheming. 

“Thank you, Commander.”

Though her tone was even, it was clear he hadn’t changed her mood. But what would? _A dance, perhaps? Ask!_  “Inquisitor, would—”

“I wanted to apologize.” 

He blinked, uncertain to what she referred. Thankfully, she offered it  without further prompting. "I wasn't trying to put you on the spot. Cole said," she shook her head, “it doesn’t matter.” 

His heart settled like a stone in his stomach. _Her desire was to help. Of course it was. Nothing more._ Not for the first time this evening, he felt the fool. She heard of his audience bothering him and offered him an escape. One he hadn’t, but probably should have, taken. Likely, she probably didn’t even want to dance, and he’d spent the evening churning over non-existent possibilities. Suddenly, he remembered exactly why he ignored the ‘pitter patter’ in his chest. _She’s the Inquisitor, we’re at war. It isn’t possible. And, she hasn’t always seen me in the best light._   

Turning to him, her lips tugged downward, “I wanted to get you away from unwanted attention, not pile more on. I’m sorry to have disturbed you for unprofessional purposes.”

Opening his mouth to speak, Cullen struggled to form words. If she required him for any reason, she had only to ask. To apologize when she acted on his behalf was preposterous, to assume she was ever a bother was even worse. He should say something to correct her, to inform her of how much she mattered, instead Cullen inquired about something else entirely, “Will you return to the ballroom?”

“I suppose I don’t have much choice. Eventually, I’ll have to, though it seems far safer out here. Away from all the stuffed shirt Banns, Champions, or nobles from the house of -nobody-cares-or-can-pronounce, who hasn’t left me alone since I arrived.” 

He knew of his own struggles, couldn’t remove himself. Somehow, he hadn’t considered she’d been dealing with the same, even though it was hardly surprising. It was probably why she tried to ‘rescue’ him. “Not enjoying the attention?”  
  
She scoffed, “No. That lends credence to the assumption their attention is worth having.” Rubbing her arms, he noticed her shiver.

Instinctually, his hands fumbled with the buttons of his coat, unfastening them and leaving him in a white v-neckline tunic. Stepping forward, he rested the jacket over her shoulders before realizing it may have been too brazen. Quirking an eyebrow at him, she offered a smile. “Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” his cheeks flamed. Somehow, seeing the oversized jacket material draping her small frame spread warmth through his chest.

“Are you quite sure?” she questioned, and he wondered if she was offended. Maybe she didn’t need his coat, perhaps he was being presumptuous in assuming she did. _You should have asked,_ he mentally scolded himself. 

Her light laugh allayed his fears, “I’m not certain the nobles inside can handle such a slight.”

He chuckled, “Yes, it’s yours as long as you require.” Leaning against the railing, he stood beside her. After providing his approval, she slipped her arms in the sleeves. It was far too long, and despite the hilarity, it was also endearing. She fumbled with the cuffs, attempting to roll them up. 

Snickering at her struggle, he offered his assistance, starting the task of neatly folding them a considerable length as his hand brushed hers. Despite the chill of the outside breeze, only heat emanated through him.

“You, without your jacket,” she smirked, “Rather bold, no? Do you not fear you’ll incite a riot?” 

Cullen rolled his eyes, "It's Orlais, they have declared war over less."

"That's exactly my point. You're wearing less clothing, they fawned over you in full uniform."

He cleared his throat and stifled a groan, moving onto the other sleeve. “It was unappreciated.”  
  
Lexie shook her head, “Oh no, I’m sure they appreciated all your assets.”  
  
_She thought he had assets, worth appreciating?_ Cullen tilted his head, _was she... flirting with him? No. That was foolish, she couldn’t be. Wishful thinking, nothing more._

“I’ve heard about your remarkable eyes and chiseled muscles all evening.”

“Oh,” he couldn’t help the smile that spanned his face. Firstly because, it was ridiculous. Secondly because, she was most certainly flirting with him. It may have been a while, but he could identify the signs. _What should I say,_ he shifted his weight and finished the second sleeve, _perhaps I am far too out of practice._

“Well,” she took a step back from him and shrugged, “what do you think?” Twirling, her dress whirled, expanding outwardly like the bottom of a bell. “Do I look all right?” 

“You look...” He stood, mesmerized by such a simple movement, _beautiful, gorgeous, spectacular,_ “lovely.” 

Her eyes grew wide and her lips parted, and it was then he realized he may have said that aloud.

Far too professional to utter the string of curses that ran through his mind, he fretted, wondering when he would stop being so Maker-damn foolish. 

All she did was stare for a moment, “really?”

 _How long has it been since the Inquisition started? How many times have you passed on saying something, taking the professional road? What are you doing, Cullen?_ He cleared his throat before declaring the truth, “Maker, you’re a lovely sight.” _You’re always a lovely sight._

Her expression softened and the twinkle in her eyes sparkled brighter than her dress. Heart drumming, he decided the time was now. “I may never have another chance like this,” he said, more in reassurance to himself than for her, “so, I must ask.”

Stepping back, he bowed. “May I have this dance?” He extended his hand, finishing his offer with “my lady.”

Lexie seemed hesitant, uncertain, but she accepted nevertheless before smiling. “I thought you didn’t dance.”

“For you, I’ll try.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading.  
> Turns out, I CAN do both fluffy and short. Who knew? (Don't get used to it.) Ha.


End file.
